


Little Wing

by AnotherAspiringAuthor



Series: A Million More [1]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, But in this house we've never even heard of plot, Character Study, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Swearing, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, One-shots in some sort of chronological order, Peter/MJ centric, Plot? What Plot?, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, Romance, Slow Burn, Spideychelle, hopeful, the snap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-04-18 04:58:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14205585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAspiringAuthor/pseuds/AnotherAspiringAuthor
Summary: The first time they say it to each other, they don't even realise they say it. The first time they say it to the other, something clicks and it's like they're both locked onto each other and no one else could ever stand a chance.The first time they say it to the other. After that comes a million more 'I love you's.





	1. The First Time

The first way she says it is before either of them are fully aware of this... _thing_  between them. Before she's aware of Spider-Man, aware of the entire shit-show he throws himself into on a regular basis. Before.

He's sporting a horrid black eye and a cut lip. He tries to hide it but his limp is gut-wrenching. His shirt lifts up and whilst on any other day, Michelle would be... _appreciative_  of the Parker Abs™, she can see that his side is covered in fresh blue bruises. Sure, his hood is up, he has a baggy top on and he's sat near the back of their first class so he doesn't get gawked at but she notices all the same. Observant like that. 

~~_See: Obsessed_ ~~

She feels concern. A bone-deep concern that settles in her stomach and refuses to leave her alone. 

The first way she says it is during their free, in the library. It's the one free they share together that week without Ned. Normally, it's a companionable silence. One of the rare times she sees Peter's legs stop bouncing, sees his fingers stop tapping. They request for pens, rulers, books to be passed to each other quietly and if their hands brush and linger a little too long as they do so, what does it matter? It's just them after all.

Michelle takes a seat next to Peter instead of opposite him this time. Any other time, her body would be screaming at her to get away, to get some distance but it's  _Peter_  and he's  _hurt_. She makes a bit of a commotion getting her stuff out so as not to surprise him too much and gently lowers his hood after checking the library is deserted. 

His injuries look worse up close. His black eye is swollen slightly, there are a dozen tiny little cuts across his cheeks and she can see some more dipping under his collarbone. Hell would freeze before she admitted she wanted to kiss them better like one of those saps out of television. 

'Are you alright?' She asks. It's patently obvious that he isn't but she needs a starting point. Her tone is softer than it's ever been before in his presence and it shocks even her a little that she can be so gentle. 

He doesn't know how to react. He stutters, mouth gaping and it would have been comical if not for the way he winces as his split lip stretches. In the back of her head, some part of her very desperately wants to take a copy of her thickest book to the head of whoever did this to him. 

'Would you like to talk about it?' Is her next question, cutting across the sputtering with a lackluster roll of the eyes. It's careful but patient here, her tone. Concerned, but respectful. It lets him know that if he says no, she's alright with that. 

For a moment, he closes his eyes, like he's struggling with himself. Later, she finds that he nearly spilled it to her, there and then, and she can't help but laugh a little when he confides this tiny little thing to her. When he opens them, his eyes are soft, pleading her to understand his answer, that he isn’t saying it to shut her off.

'No...I-I want to but...I can't.' He offers her a small, warm smile. It's a quiet little thing and she files it away into  _Things that make her heart beat faster._  It's a rapidly growing pile. 'Really, I would if I could but...It's personal. I'm sorry.'

She smiles right back at him, nudging his shoulder with hers as she turns and opens her book. 'Don't be sorry loser. Just kick the other guys ass twice as hard next time.'

How she says it the first time isn't actually in verbal words. It's in how she sits beside him for the next few days until the injuries clear up. It's in how she wraps a protective leg around his during lunch when his leg's going just a  _little_  too fast to just be energy. It's in how she nudges his shoulder, how she brushes his hand, how she smiles warmly at him, freely and unrestrained. It's in the easy banter, the casual insults and paper balls off his head when he isn't looking. She knows he's back to a hundred percent when he catches one without looking, without wincing. 

The first time she says  _I love you_ , is in how she doesn't leave his side and helps prop him back up without fear or pity where everyone else treated him like glass. 

And God al-fucking-mighty, he was grateful for that.

* * *

 

The first time he says it is clumsy, as expected. Again, it's before she knows about Spider-Man. But she's close enough to know about the nightmares, the horrible, claustrophobic feeling he gets sometimes as he goes between classes. Close enough to smack him on the head and then tell him to call her if he needs to. 

 _Fuck the time_ , are her precise words.  _There are too many books to read to sleep._

He snorts at that and promises he would call if it got bad without her or Ned or May around. 

He keeps his promise on just another night, because of just another nightmare. His phones in his hand and the dial tone is ringing before he even registers what he's doing because, honestly? MJ always had felt like home. Safe. Calming. He needed that right now.

She picks up the phone after the second dial and her low, almost husky ' _Parker?_ ' Simultaneously makes it a little easier to breathe and a little harder. 

 _Hearing that every morning wouldn't be too bad_  is a fleeting thought he has as he hears his name on her lips. He chases it away with big shooing motions in his head and realises that he probably woke her up.

'I-I woke you up, I'm sorry, so sorry just go back to sleep never mind, it's-'

' _Stay.'_

He finds it downright disrespectful that a single word, said in that tone of voice, at this time of night, had so much power. But it works and he quickly shuts up, closing his eyes as the room swims and that momentary calmness passes him by.

He's back under the rubble again, except this time, in front of him are bodies. May, Ned, Tony, MJ, everyone he ever cared about in front of him, their empty eyes looking right at him as he gasps and pants and cries under the crushing weight of that building. He can't breathe, there's dust everywhere, those cold eyes are taunting him, asking him  _why weren't you good enough Peter? Why couldn't you save us Peter?_

_'Breathe Peter. Just breathe.'_

God, he can't breathe, the smell of blood and dust and mud is filling his nostrils, the stench of the dead crawling into his lungs, his heart and settl-

' _It's alright Parker. Easy. Just breathe. In and out, slowly_ '

He doesn't realise he's complying until he hears himself exhale slowly. Michelle's talking, her voice soothing and rock-steady and he clings onto it like a lost ship does a lighthouse. She talks him down and he's able to ease that iron grip on his bedsheets, that sheen of sweat slowly cools down and before he knows it, he's laughing quietly at something she's said. He writes down a few books she thinks he would like, and she scribbles down a few indie films he thinks she would like. 

Before he realises it, he can breathe again and it isn't the smell of a battlefield that fills his lungs, it's the smell of home. 

The first time he says it is clumsy, but it isn't verbal. It's by greeting her with her favourite coffee in the morning; she had told him the night before and he had hastily scrawled it down on his arm before sleeping. It's by her catching him putting a metric fuck-ton of chocolate in her locker ( _Parker you dick, it'll melt-_ She says it with a smile though, so he figures it's alright). It's by catching her eye in class like always and for once, not looking away. It's by resting his leg against hers at lunch.

In short, he stops running at a million miles an hour. He stops, he breathes in and opens his eyes. The view's more breathtaking than any he's had from the rooftops of New York.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurt Peter in Infinity War, Russo Brothers. I fucking dare you, you little shits.


	2. A Snap of the Fingers.

 

It’s a bit of an adjustment to make after he tells her about Spider-Man. No more hushed whispers at lunch, no more needing to huddle away from her in the corner or find some excuse to sneak him and Ned away to talk about it. It takes a little to get out of the habit of hushed whispers just for Ned at the table and a little longer still to loosen up enough to casually web stuff the way he does alone or with Ned and Aunt May. She’s patient in this though, in her own way. Knocks his foot under the lunch table, just enough force in it to remind him of her presence, not enough to hurt. Follows him with inquisitive eyes, raised eyebrows and a disturbingly distracting tilt to her lips as she smirks at him.

‘Dork.’ She would say with heat and affection and a few other things Peter cant quite identify yet behind it. A shove to the shoulder, light punch in the arm. Not careful, but not careless. He appreciates not having to pretend around her, not needing to reassure her he isn’t glass, not needing to pretend he’s absolute steel. Peter hopes he conveys this gratefulness in the few tight hugs they share, arms coming round each others backs to squeeze tightly, heads buried quickly in necks before backing away with heated cheeks.

Ah, but that was another adjustment. This…tension. Affectionate is not a word one generally uses to describe Michelle, yet lately, Peter’s been using it more and more. Her voice, her touches both playful, grounding and kind. The way she hugged him, nudged him, even looked at him. It was…kind. Affectionate. Soft.

Weird.

He’s not an utter dick, of course he knows what the butterflies in his stomach mean when she smiles at him, what the heated cheeks mean after she’s settled comfortably against him for movie night in May’s. He just doesn’t know what _that_ means, if it was just her coming out of her shell with them, or if she really did-

Well. That was not a thought to entertain considering his last utter farce of a romance. He’d stick to webbing the bad guys, loving the good guys and preferably keeping the two very clearly separated from one another.

Vulture’s just the start though. There’s the little guys that still crop up of course and he handles them with ease but bigger fish start to swim into his pond. Shocker, a guy in a rhino suit, a goddamn walking electric man.

(Admittedly? He enjoyed those bigger ones. Pushed him. Reassured him he was making a difference.)

Of course, it’s Thanos rolling along and changing everything with a snap of his stupid purple fingers. In a few brief seconds, Peter goes from boy to man to nothing in a short few seconds and he understands regret and fear and pain more than anyone else his age before he’s lost to the ashy battleground of a foreign planet.

He feels it coming when it happens, the atoms in his body pulling apart and then pushing back together, an immovable object meeting an unstoppable force. It’s _agony_ , he’s never felt a pain like it and he just knows this is it.  Watches the team around him disappear and then there’s Tony, just Tony and he’s reaching for him with desperate arms, desperate pleas, and desperate regrets.

 _I’m sorry_ Peter had gasped out before the wind had taken him. An apology to Tony, for fulfilling his worst fears, for weighing down the battered, tired man’s conscience in such a way. An apology to Aunt May, half a universe away, for not coming home this time around. To Ned, for abandoning his single best friend in this entire fucked up universe to the forces of fate.

And to Michelle. For never telling her he loved her. Absolutely, with nothing in reserve, he loved her.

There’s a million different ways they will tell one another they love each other. But as the atoms holding him together with such fragility pull away for one last time, Peter learns the full meaning of regret. He learns that this was not one of the million times they had, could or would say it to one another.

He’s so _sorry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive! 
> 
> Unlike Peter. Really shouldn't have said anything, should I?


	3. Alive.

At the end of it all, he’s alive. Wonderfully, beautifully alive, flying through the air at the end of his web, swinging his feet with all his force into the gut of the Mad Titan not too long after being reformed from dust. It’s in his veins, the thrum of his heartbeat, his burning lungs and aching body. _Alive._

‘Love from New York!’ He shouts with a foreign kind of anger in his kick as the bloody alien is rocketed into the air and with a roar, Tony rockets into Thanos from above, burying him in the ground so hard it cracks beneath his fury. He’s never seen Tony so angry yet so relieved, so determined, so upset. Briefly, he wonders how long he was dust in the hands of his mentor, how long he was nothing but ash whilst Tony and the survivors rallied and brought them all back.

They win eventually, of course. The galaxy is irrevocably changed, something fundamental has been shaken and upended but they win, with Thanos himself suffering the same fate of his victims and Peter has his hands on his knees, gasping and panting for breath after flipping and kicking and swinging so much, so soon after coming back.

It’s like a baptism by fire, he thinks. _Welcome back_ , the universe seems to greet him, coldly, indifferently. _Now, back to it boy._

It’s on the way back to Earth that Peter has to break the silence.

‘How long?’ He croaks out, voice hoarse from his whooping and yelling and shouting in the midst of battle. It’s crowded, Tony shifting with the dark, dangerous eyes of a changed man, Strange looking relieved and proud and tired. The Guardians tilt their heads in a similar curiosity. Nebula makes a sort of choking noise in her throat and moves out of sight to ‘check on the autopilot.’

‘…I don’t know.’ Tony says eventually, his own voice wary and battle-worn. ‘W-we just threw ourselves into undoing it. Getting yo-Getting _everyone_ back.’ A hand runs through his hair, dusty and bloody and streaked with grey. His eyes look older than his body. He swallows thickly. ‘A month. At least. For one month, the entire galaxy was down half it’s population.’

All from a snap of the fingers. Stunning really, when you put it in perspective. That’s at least four billion people from Earth alone; Peter could hardly imagine the losses of those outside the solar system.

Peter can’t help but keep watch on Tony (Tony? Mr Stark felt too…childlike, after everything that had happened). The man looks tired, soul-deep tired. A month of a child disintegrating in his arms on his already guilt-ridden conscience.

_Oh god. May. MJ. Ned._

He remembers then. Remembers the feeling of his body just giving in, how the universe pulled him apart with a single exhale of breath, all the fears, the regrets, the apologies he held as he died.

_He had died._

‘I remember.’ Peter manages to choke out as it hits him. ‘All of it, I just-It-I can’t-‘

He breaks down, collapses into that cold suit of armour, feels it bleed away into a well-worn hoodie and he’s not the only one crying. There’s not a single dry eye in the ship and they all find someone to hold, to hug, to just _feel_.

It’s the most terrible, wonderful feeling in the world. He had died, and god it was agony, but he was alive. They were alive. They won.

* * *

 

When he steps off the ship at the Avengers compound, he finds himself being body-slammed three times in quick succession. Even with his strength, he staggers, stumbles, falls under the crying bodies and he dimly recognises Ned’s rambling, May’s hysterics and MJ’s quiet tears of relief as she wraps her arms around his ribs and squeezes so hard, it hurts.

It’s a good hurt though. The best.

They won. The dead were back, the damage restored. There was healing to be done, recognition of events and recovery but _god_ they had _won._

His final regrets were at the forefront of his mind and from his position on his back, he grips the back of MJ’s head gently, pulls her close.

‘ _I love you_.’ He breathes, so gently none but her could hear. She just squeezes him harder, buries into his neck closer and it’s easier to breathe as he repeats it, over and over again to Ned and May.

The tears calm down. From hysterics, they move to laughter. That relieved, holy shit, kind of laughter and the holds on him ease as the bodies roll off him. May moves behind him, his head settled in her lap, Ned curled against his right side and Peter makes doubly sure to loop his left arm around MJ and pull her against his left side. Even though the pressure lessens a bit, her arms stay around him, loose, her head in his neck. He can feel her inhaling, shakily, can feel the tears on his skin.

‘I love you.’ He chokes out. ‘All of you I-I’m so _sorry_ , I-‘

‘Loser.’ MJ mutters into his skin, voice strong if not a bit strained. ‘Shut up. I love you too.’ The sentiment is echoed by Ned and May but it's MJ's confession that makes his heart beat wonderfully fast. Since he came back, he's been repeating it hoping for it to sink in. _Alive. Alive again. Alive._

It's Michelle that makes him feel it again. He loves her.

There’s a million more of these confessions to come in his future. It was only fitting really that it only took the end of half the known galaxy to bring it about. Fitting really, that it was love, real love, not the false, psychopahic kind of love Thanos held for Gamora, that had saved the day. That desperate kind of love that makes heroes out of everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably the end of this little fic. At least until Avengers 4 where this is likely AU af and we get more of that sweet sweet angst.


	4. The Quiet Moments

Peter says it a lot, over the coming months after he and half the galaxy come back from the other side. _I love you_ , he would cry to Aunt May, the two of them clinging onto one another as they murmur it in reassurance to one another. _I’m here_ , it means, _I’m here and I’ve never leaving you, I’ll always be there._

 _I love you_ , he would say to Ned out of the blue. At first the boy would blink, turn to Peter with narrowed eyes and Peter would feel a mild flutter of nerves at the inspection.

‘Shit man,’ Ned had said. ‘I love you too, you crazy webslinging nutcase.’ It makes Peter laugh, one of his first real laughs after he comes back from dust and they hug, tightly, sincerely and go about their day. There’s no Spider-Man without his guy in the chair, after all. No Mulder without Scully.

 _I love you_ , he said once to Tony. They’re alone, in his lab just quietly tinkering away on their own suits (And jeez, _that_ had been a negotiation to be allowed to mess with his own gear). Tony freezes, his own eyes fixed on the iron suit in front of him and for a brief moment, he thinks he’s made an awful mistake and scared him away.

‘I love you too kid.’ He said, instead of telling him to get out and it’s the most sincere he’s ever heard Mr. Stark talk. ‘I’m real proud of you.’ His heart swells at that and he grins, that easy silence falling back between them, disturbed only by the odd yawn, the spark of something being tweaked with. Peter falls asleep on his suit that night and wakes up in the morning covered by one of Tony’s blankets on his couch, a note tucked inside his jean pocket.

 _Just in case_ , it says and underneath that messy handwriting is Tony’s personal number. Now, ‘Tony Stank’ is a new contact in his phone, an Iron-Man emoji beside it.

What? You _really_ think Rhodey kept that one to himself? C’mon man.

MJ though…It’s hard to say to MJ. He doesn’t know why but it sticks in his throat when he means to say it. Aside from his return to Earth, with adrenaline, relief, desperation in his veins, he hasn’t really told MJ again. Not that she needs to hear it again mind you, he knows she’s the type of girl to roll her eyes and call him a loser for gushing but still. He wants to say it. He died with too many regrets on his mind. Peter’s a quick learner; he rarely makes the same mistake twice.

And yet, when he meets her eyes, it sticks in his throat. So he tries instead to focus on something else, like her lips and then he just turns into a blushing, stuttering mess for some weird-ass reason. Her hands? He gets a bit distracted by how nice it felt to have them hug him, how warm and soft they felt the few times she grabbed his hand to show him something, lead him somewhere.

Basically, he’s a goddamn mess for Michelle Jones and he’s not quite sure how to verbally communicate that beyond _ughhh ummmm urrrrr_ when they’re together and he turns to her. It’s kinda embarrassing.

Worth it of course, just for the tilt she gets to her lips, the sparkle in her eyes, the playful punch she gives his arm as she tells him to _go read a dictionary you nerd_. He thinks she knows what he means. He hopes.

But of course, that wasn’t good enough was it? He had hoped she knew before the snap, hadn’t he? And that particular regret when he had died _sucked_ , dude. Sue him if it’s selfish.

Thus, like an absolute fucking oddball, he finds himself using his stick-em powers to climb up the brick wall, knocking on MJ’s bedroom window lightly. The moons out but she’s just got her hands on a new book so he knows she’s still up.When the curtain is shoved aside, he sees her in an oversized shirt, messy hair and narrowed eyes. Maybe his heart melts a little. Maybe it doesn’t. Who are you to know, you nosey git?

‘If you’re bleeding again Parker, stay the hell away from my bedsheets. I don’t need your sticky ass to ruin them again.’ Peter can’t help but laugh at her grumpiness, knows her well enough to figure she’s asking if this is a social call or just business.

‘The nights still young.’ He says back, voice gentle and soft as he clambers into her room. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not hurt.’

‘I wasn’t _worried._ ’ She hisses back but the flush in her cheeks and the way she drops the hem of her shirt from twisted hands gives her away as Peter pulls the mask off.

And yeah, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t get a bit of a thrill from how her eyes lingered just a little too long on his chest and arms before he slid to the floor, leaning against her wall. He made a little note-to-self to thank Tony for the suit again.

‘So?’ MJ says, not unkindly, after a heavy silence. She’s found a space opposite him, mirroring his position against a wall. Peter’s got his eyes fixed somewhere on the ceiling. He figures not losing himself in her eyes might help a bit in keeping his speech coherent enough to get the point across.

‘I-I lo-Uh, I mean, I-‘

Nevermind. There goes _that_ plan. His rocketmouth is going a million miles an hour while his brain is working double-time to try figure out just what the hell words are. But then, there’s a soft hand over his mouth, shushing him and a very amused looking MJ peering at him and _shit_ , when did she get so close, she smells _great_ and-

And yeah. He’s a mess. Shit.

‘Breathe Parker. Words you giant goofball.’ The words are affectionate and Peter’s head falls against the wall with an annoyed sigh leaving his lips.

‘I-I gotta-no, _wanna_ \- tell you something but I dunno how to.’ His finger pushes against his temple and he mumbles a ‘Stupid’ out.

‘You’re not stupid.’ MJ said, patiently. For all her snark and sarcasm, hard edges and narrowed eyes at others, she’s really gentle and patient with Peter. ‘If you can’t tell me what you want to say, then maybe try _why_ you wanna say it?’

And she’s also a genius. Honestly, this girl man. _This. Girl._

Mind, he’s never really examined why he loves MJ. He just sort of accepted it as a fact. Sun sets, moon rises. He loves MJ. It’s just a thing. It would be easy to just spew everything he liked about her out. Her snark, the fire in her eyes, her brains and soft hands and how she smiled with a little tilt to her head, the way her eyes creased a little when she laughed at him, how-

You get the idea. But that’s not quite stuff he thinks he should be saying. He considers for a moment and Michelle moves beside him, arm warm against his through the suit, thumb ever so slightly resting against his hand. For her, its probably nothing more than a breath of wind against her skin but for him, it’s just what he needed. The lightbulb moment.

‘…Whenever I went out on patrol before I di- _before._ ’ MJ nods and the hand moves to squeeze his own in comfort. It’s a quiet, vulnerable few seconds. ‘Before, I’d always hope it’d never be Aunt May or Ned I’d be saving from a mugger or-or something. Cause, I got no clue who I’m swinging in to help do I?’ It’s rhetorical but she nods anyway, a little placation for his anxious state. ‘And well…after, when we touched down and I could force myself into this suit again, people still do shitty things like that. Half the galaxy gone and back, people still fight and rob and bicker like nothings changed.’

He knows there’s a bit of hopelessness creeping into his voice. That maybe he’s not good enough to push back the worst natures humanity has to offer in his little corner of Earth. But that’s another moment, for another time.

‘Well…Lately, yo-you’ve been on that list as well. I’ll swing down and just beg in my head _not May, not Ned, not MJ_ , over and over until I’m close enough to see and it’s like-like-‘

He’s cut short with a kiss to his cheek. It’s short, the soft pressure of her lips against his skin and her hand cups his other side for half a second as she gently nudges him into her.

‘Love you too, you big massive fumbling loser.’ And, as predicted, it’s said with a roll of her eyes.And yet, despite the fact that it’s dark both their cheeks are probably bright enough to illuminate the room like the sun and the moon. Police sirens ring out in the distance.

‘Saved by the siren.’ Peter breathlessly whispers, more to himself than anything really, and his cheek is buzzing pleasantly, like a gentle caress.

‘Go get ‘em tiger.’ This new name just makes him blush, stammer even more and no, _no_ he does not stumble on his way out the window. ‘Just so you know, bleeding on the bad guys usually isn’t an effective battle tactic.’

‘Don’t worry, I got this.’ And yeah, he’s feeling some of his old cockiness creeping back in now. Spider-Man went toe-to-toe with Thanos, he could deal with whatever else this universe decided to throw his way.

‘I wasn’t _worried_.’

Peter laughs and feels lighter than he has done in weeks as he shoots his webs out and swings towards the sound of sirens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a note about how this fic was finished. But I'm an unorganised mess and these nerds won't leave me alone so...


	5. Pretty Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or, Peter learns that maybe having a little help isn't all that bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Removed my Pretty Visitors story and made it this chapter as it felt like it suited this story a lot more and I'm an unorganised mess. Just leaving this open ended now tbh, these nerds won't leave me alone.
> 
> Chronology-wise, takes place before the last chapter.

Peter’s tired. He’s had a rough night out. Some dude in a big ass rhino suit just put him through two walls and a floor, he’s pretty sure he’s got a mild concussion from that and the old lady he frightened who smacked him with the heaviest handbag in existence. His body’s aching so much, he can’t even locate the source of said pain and damnit, he just wants to curl up and take a nap.

But he has responsibilities. Duties. Ever since his dusting, he’s gotta check in on everyone, make sure they’re safe and tucked away and very firmly _not_ dust. It helps.

That being said, he is not a very graceful spider right now. His landing on the brick wall opposite Ned’s is messy and his feet scramble a little before he can plant them on the wall. He breathes a little easier when he sees the light off and the faint rise and fall of a blanket covering his friend. He plans on it being business as usual when he hits MJ’s but…well..

He quite literally hits MJ’s. Rams himself straight into that strangely solid wall just above her window and something flares up near his ribs. Hands automatically go to his side and he’s falling, twisting so his back takes the brunt of it and-

‘ _Son of a-!’_ And he swears he doesn’t mean to shout that out so loudly but landing on a fire escape is definitely not a recommended or stylish landing. It is, however, a very loud one and as Peter stands, a window opens revealing MJ with bed-tousled hair and squinting, sleep-addled eyes, lips almost pouting a little as she takes him in.

‘Parker? Is that blood?’

‘I-Uh-Uhm-I…No?’ His stuttering has everything to do with his concussion. Absolutely nothing to do with how adorable he found MJ in an oversized shirt.

‘That’s not the type of question you answer with another question, you dick.’ And Peter can’t help but smile at that under the mask. None the less, he looks down and gives himself a cursory once over.

‘Huh. That’s a lot of blood.’ He doesn’t mean to say it out loud but everything’s so dizzy and spinny and _really_ , was he _really_ about to pass out now? He does his best to blink it off. Hand on the rail to steady himself. ‘I dunno where it’s coming from.’

Dimly, he sees MJ climb out. Shivers a little from the cool breeze in the air. She’s wearing shorts. _Nice legs_ , he thinks to himself and then mentally proceeds to slap himself. He’s pretty sure his head got knocked a little harder than he thought now.

‘It’s cold.’ He tells her dumbly and why do his lips feel so heavy? ‘You should get back inside.’

Her lips move and Peter thinks she says something along the lines of _loser, are you alright_.

‘I think I’m about to black out.’ He admits thickly, swaying. ‘Yeah, I’m definitely about to pass out.’

He’s a man of his word and promptly does just that. Sways on the spot and falls. His last image before the sweet relief of unconsciousness takes him is an alarmed looking Michelle jumping forwards to catch him. He hopes he isn’t too heavy. Actually, he wouldn’t mind all that much if she just let him fall, he doesn’t wanna risk it.

 

* * *

 

 

When he wakes up, he’s in a bed. A very soft, comfortable bed. It smells like new books and hot chocolate and something else that makes his heart all warm and fuzzy. It is not, however, _his_ bed.

‘If you were gonna fall for me, you didn’t have to do it so dramatically dude.’ And Peter’s startled alright? Don’t judge him for webbing up to the ceiling, ready for a fight. MJ just puts her hands up placatingly, tired little smile on her lips as she nudges the door closed behind her. As he drops back down to a standing position by her bed, he can’t help but wince a little at the tightness in his ribs, the pounding headache building up.

‘I didn’t know how to get your suit off.’ MJ says sheepishly, hand at the back of her neck as Peter pokes at a hole at his ribs that was most _definitely_ not there the night before. ‘And it was ripped there already so I just…made it bigger?’

Now he’s awake, Peter’s starting to take in the little details. The bookshelves overflowing with all sorts of literature, chaotically organised. The desk, strewn with notes and a laptop, an empty mug. MJ’s changed, just into jeans and a hoodie. She looks tired, with the small circles around her eyes and tightness in her voice, the way she seems just a little bit more on edge.

It dawns on Peter this is the first time he’s been in her room. He feels like hitting his head against a wall. _Way to make an impression Parker._

‘Thank you.’ He fumbles out to MJ as he does a mental check up on himself. The sun’s just rising outside. If he’s lucky, he might be able to sneak in for breakfast before May gets in an Iron Man suit and kicks his ass. ‘I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to just-It didn’t feel that bad honest, I just-‘

He’s rambling again. Seems he does that a lot lately around Michelle.

‘It’s fine.’ She cuts across him quickly, but kindly. ‘I’m glad you uh…dropped in.’ Peter chuckles at this, groans ever so quietly as his ribs protest. ‘I did my best, stopped the bleeding and cleaned the wound and the ribs don’t seem broken just fractured, so-‘ There’s a deep inhale as she rushes all this out, shoulders visibly relaxing as she exhaled. ‘So, you should be fine. Just don’t make a habit of bleeding out on my bed Parker. Or taking a shortcut through floors.’

‘Huh. I made the news?’ She just rolls her eyes at this, runs a hand through her hair and yawns. Guilt stabs at Peter.

‘Listen, I’m sorry again, I didn’t mean to just…fall in on you like that, it wasn’t fair and-‘

‘Loser.’ It’s sharp but said with bright eyes. ‘I said it’s fine. Better here than bleeding out in the street and boy, I’ll be praying for you the day you walk into May like that.’

Peter shivers a little at the thought.

‘You’re gonna get hurt. You’re gonna need some help. It’s fine Pete, really. Me and Ned and May and everyone else…we’ve got your back. You don’t need to apologise.’ A cute little frown forms on her face as she moves to her bed and looks at it. ‘You might need to buy me some new bedsheets though. I didn’t even know you could bleed _that_ much.’ Her hand comes up to wave at him without looking, his mouth already opening.

‘Say sorry again nerd, I’ll give you something to be sorry about.’ And there’s a teasing little lilt to her voice creeping in a bit. Downstairs, a door closes shut and a man calls Michelle’s name out. Peter’s eyes widen.

‘Shit, I gotta-Mask, where’s my-‘ MJ pulls it out of her hoodie pocket, tosses it to him as he moves towards the window. Pauses with one leg out.

‘Em?’ Her cheeks colour a little at this as she turns. He doesn’t blame her really, there’s a cold wind coming in through the window. ‘Thank you. Again.’

‘Shoo loser, shoo!’ She waves him off, shutting the window behind him quickly as he pounces off the fire escape and shoots a web out. Peter spins mid-swing, gives a jaunty little salute as she turns to her room. He doesn’t miss the smile she gives him before she starts talking to her dad.

For some reason, his mask smells like the bed he woke in. Something that made him feel warm and safe.


End file.
